Son of Nothing
by redcognito
Summary: Thierry wonders where Nilsson came from.


Spoilers: L.J. Smith's 'Night World: Soulmate'  
Disclaimers: They're not mine, m'kay? If they were, Nilsson would be more than the Butler. ;)

Dedication: Written for the ever-fabulous cathyrne for LJSanta 2006.

--

Over the years, Thierry had become accustomed to the endless cycle of Hannah's death and rebirth. It had always been an inevitability, and so he'd been able to resign himself to losing her to Maya's machinations. It hurt; it was pointless to pretend otherwise. But in all honesty he never had time in their scant moments together to process that he'd found her again. She was gone before he could really dare to hope, before his heart dared love again. He mourned, and then set about searching for her all over again, wrapped comfortably in a blanket of sad resignation.

This time... this time was different. Against all the odds Maya was gone, and Hannah had /lived/. She'd not only reached seventeen, but she survived the Millennium battle; that any of them had was impressive, but to Thierry Hannah's survival was a miracle. She'd gone to college and gained her Palaeontology degree. She had grown up, become a fine woman who dedicated her time to helping Circle Daybreak and promote understanding between humans and Night Worlders. Through all of that, she'd constantly been at Thierry's side, loving him with all her heart, just as he did her.

He'd had an entire lifetime with Hannah, had the chance to /know/ her, to love her, have her constant companionship for a stretch decades, not days. And then... she grew old. It seemed as if no time had passed before Thierry found himself holding her in his arms, his cheek pressed to her soft, grey hair, her tired wrinkles softening in peace as she drifted into death. For the first time ever, he was confronted with a heavy, incapacitating grief that near enough crushed his soul. All her previous deaths combined were nothing in the face of this despair.

Intellectually, he knew she'd be back. He had millennia of experience to prove that. But even that knowledge was small comfort to his aching heart. Life seemed cold and grey without Hannah in it, and he would spend his days wandering listlessly from room to room, staring at nothing through windows. When he found himself thinking too much, he'd lock himself in his study, burying himself in research, or pointless paperwork. And when that failed to work, and thoughts of Hannah threatened to overwhelm him, he'd raid the cellars of the mansion, drowning his sorrows and obliterating rational thought with the bottles of fine wine stored down there.

It was on one of those nights that Thierry found himself slumped on a couch in the library, half-drunk bottle in one hand, two empties on the floor beside him. His brain had finally fallen into a blissfully numb state. The combination of the rain beating gently against the window behind him, and the fire crackling gently in the grate, throwing warmth at him was having a soporific effect. He'd been slowly sinking further into the couch for the past twenty minutes while he'd been idly watching Nilsson sorting books into some kind of order.

It occurred to him that he hadn't seen Nilsson enter the room, though that wasn't something that concerned him. Even if he'd been sober, he wouldn't have been bothered, as Nilsson was doing that all the time. Thierry had always put it down to some kind of strange Butler Power that allowed butlers to fade in and out of the background.

Good old, faithful, dependable Nilsson. No one else could sort things into order quite like he could. Of course, no one could quite make a mess of a library quite the way that the members of Circle Daybreak could, either. But they had Nilsson to organise things, tidy after them and make sure things got done. Thierry wasn't sure what he'd do without Nilsson, really. Fall apart, probably. How he'd managed before Nilsson was a mystery to him.

He frowned as an odd thought crossed his mind. When exactly had he employed Nilsson? Try as he might, he couldn't remember. Damned if he could remember interviewing him, either. It was if Thierry had been alone one day, and the next Nilsson was just... there. Pottering around the place like he'd always belonged.

"Nilsson?"

"Sir?" he replied, still concentrating on his task.

"Where did you come from?"

"Why, you summoned me, sir."

Thierry paused for a moment as his brain tried shifting gears in order to function better. He was pretty sure that Nilsson couldn't have misunderstood the question, because they both knew that he hadn't summoned him this evening. They just both happened to be in the library while occupied in their own projects; Thierry getting drunk, Nilsson doing what Nilssons did best.

Puzzled, he elaborated. "No, I mean before you came here. Before I employed you, where did you come from? And, for that matter, when did I employ you?"

Nilsson's hands stilled suddenly, books momentarily forgotten as he stood there stiffly for a few seconds. Slowly, carefully, he put the books back where they should be, then turned to face Thierry. The firelight reflected in his small, Lennon-esque sunglasses (another Nilsson quirk, wearing them at all times, day or night. Thierry wasn't sure he'd ever seen the man's eyes).

"No, sir, you /summoned/ me. From deep inside."

Thierry blinked sluggishly, confused. "I don't understand."

Nilsson sighed, seating himself on the other end of the couch. "I'm not sure I understand it entirely either, sir. But I've been able to piece a few things together over the years from research and rumours-"

Thierry held up his hand, "Wait. I have a sinking feeling I should be sober for this."

A nod. "Yes, sir, that would probably help."

"Waste of good wine," he muttered as he sat upright again. Closing him eyes he summoned his Power, sending it through his system, neutralising out the alcohol.

Sobriety crashed down in him in an alarming and depressing manner. Reality reared its ugly head as his brain began functioning once more; it informed him under no uncertain terms that it preferred being warm, fuzzy and drunk, because then it didn't have to think about losing /her/... no, he didn't want to go there. He slammed down on any thoughts of Hannah for the moment, concentrating entirely on Nilsson, and what he had to say. Sober, he could at least see the gaping hole that was the mystery of Nilsson quite clearly. It was probably something he'd have only noticed while drunk and thinking sideways, but he needed to be sober to make any sense of it.

"So," he said at last, "I summoned you?"

"In a manner of speaking sir. As far as I can tell, at some point in the past ... probably just after losing Miss Hannah in a difficult manner ... you got to a point where you were so despairing, so lonely, that I was created to give you company and keep you sane."

"If it were that simple, everyone would have imaginary butlers," Thierry pointed out dryly.

"But not everyone is as powerful as you, sir. There are references in old documents, of witches who had the power to call forth people from the ether, sir. Usually by accident."

"I'm not a witch, Nilsson."

"You were one. Before you were a vampire."

Thierry stared. He was right. He couldn't do magic now, of course, but damned if he hadn't been born a witch. "How do you explain the fact that I can't work magic, yet here you are?"

"I can't say for certain, but the only logical explanation I've been able to come up with is Power and blood. Blood remembers, sir. Your witch heritage still flows through your veins, even if it is impotent. That, combined with your powers as a vampire..."

"You think that in a moment of deep despair, I craved company so badly that I subconsciously triggered some kind of memory in my blood that caused it to use my vampire powers to... to /create/ you?"

"Yes, sir," Nilsson responded seriously.

Thierry closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Nilsson had to be crazy. Or Thierry himself had gone crazy. Or he'd passed out in the library and was having a strange dream. He pinched himself hard. To his dismay, it hurt. "I need to be drunk again," he said wearily. He grabbed for his opened bottle of wine, and promptly took a large swallow.

The alarming fact was that he thought he actually /did/ believe Nilsson. Partly because this was Nilsson, who never betrayed his trust, never lied, had always been honest with him. Nilsson lying, or being stark raving bonkers seemed less likely than the theory he'd just explained. Then there was the fact that somewhere, deep inside, he knew that Nilsson was right. He had no clue about the mechanics behind it all, but he felt that Nilsson was a part of him, in a similar way to how he knew that Hannah was his soulmate. And really, it explained a lot. Why he couldn't remember employing Nilsson, why he was always there when he was needed, and why he always knew /what/ Thierry needed, sometimes even before he knew himself. It went beyond being a good butler.

Still, he had to keep some kind of grip on reality, be logical about the whole thing.

"So, suppose for a moment I believe this insane theory. How on earth did you even start to think about this hard enough to research it? To even suspect that I summoned you?"

Nilsson shifted uncomfortably, then hesitantly took his glasses off. It took a few moments before he seemed to work up the courage to actually open his eyes and look earnestly into Thierry's eyes.

Any surprise that Thierry had over Nilsson actually taking those infernal glasses off was eclipsed by the shock of his eyes. Given the revelations, the theories, Thierry half-expected them to be pools of nothing, or swirling with some strange Other Light. Instead, what he saw was something more shocking.

His own eyes stared back at him. Dark, ageless... bottomless. They were the eyes he'd avoided looking at in the mirror in the months since Hannah's death. No, before. When she'd started getting old, and couldn't bear to see the fact that he stayed ever youthful as her body failed her. But he'd know them anywhere.

Nilsson had his eyes.

He breathed in sharply, looked away, then looked back as though compelled to. He reached out, fingers gently brushing Nilsson's lashes, needing to feel that they were real.

"As to why I think you summoned me, sir, why I'm not made from flesh and blood like normal people... it's simple, really. It occurred to me one day that I didn't have any memories from before I came to you, and that as I thought on it, I couldn't really remember when that was, even."

For some reason, that made Thierry feel sad, remorseful, as if he were responsible for taking something away from Nilsson, not that he was sure what Nilsson might have lost. It must have shown on his face, because the butler gave him a small, reassuring smile.

"Don't feel bad, sir. I don't. You gave me life. Without you, I wouldn't be anything. You called me from nothing, gave me a purpose in life.

"But your purpose in life is to care for my selfish whims!"

"No, sir. My purpose in life is to be there for you, a companion so that you're never alone. I chose this role for myself, because frankly, I'm good at it," he said, with a touch of pride.

"You /chose/ to be a butler?" Thierry was incredulous. "You're some kind of physical impossibility, a miracle, and you decided to be a butler?"

"For some reason, I like things clean and tidy, sir," Nilsson sniffed. "It seems to be a personality quirk. Besides, it's easier to keep an eye on you. I'm supposed to be anywhere and everywhere, so it never seems strange if I'm there in the background."

Thierry shook his head, and slumped back in the couch. "I... don't know what to say. In all my years, I'd never have guessed anything like this could happen."

"It's overwhelming, sir."

"To put it mildly."

"But you'll recover, you always do. And you always have me to talk to about it."

Thierry found himself frowning again. The conversation sounded a lot like Nilsson was talking about something else entirely. "Are we having the same conversation?"

"I believe so, sir. The overwhelming nature of discovering you have an imaginary butler?" he replied levelly.

"For a moment, I thought you were talking about..."

"Miss Hannah?"

Thierry's eyes flicked to Nilsson's face. His expression was earnest, patient, and suspiciously innocent looking. "Yes..." he said slowly, considering. "You were. You're being... you. Anticipating my needs again."

The corner of Nilsson's mouth twitched slightly in amusement. "If you say so, sir." His expression sobered. "Do you want to talk? About Miss Hannah?"

"I don't know... I don't know if I'm ready to, or if I ever will be."

Nilsson nodded in understanding. "I'm here whenever you are ready." After a few moments of silence, he said, "I should perhaps leave you in peace to think things over. Get on with sorting these books." He made to get up from the couch, then looked mildly surprised when Thierry's hand shot out to stop him, a pained expression on his face as he tried to find the words to express what he needed to say.

"Nilsson... I..." And then it all poured out, his feelings about his love, his loss and his loneliness. How tired he was of life, of living, how without Hannah things seemed so pointless, yet ending it all wasn't an option. He wouldn't be there when she came back, he'd never see her again if he gave up.

Somehow, he ended up in Nilsson's arms as he talked himself empty of his worried and fears. By the time he was done, his throat was hoarse, his head resting exhaustedly on Nilsson's chest. His shirt was damp from where he'd wept, yet Nilsson didn't seem to care. Instead he'd just listened the whole way through, stroking his hair soothingly in a way that only his mother and Hannah ever had before. It should have felt strange, yet it felt right. Comforting, safe.

"I'm always here for you, Thierry," he whispered. "As long as you need me, I'll always be here for you. I'll wait with you for her, life after life. I'll be by your side, hold you and comfort you whenever you need me to. You're not alone. You never will be."

He continued stroking Thierry's hair softly, and he relaxed under Nilsson's touch, letting his exhaustion wash over him.

"She /will/ be back, sir. One day, soon."

For the first time since Hannah had died, his heart felt the truth in those words, was soothed by them. He was sad, still mourning for her, but finally he felt he might just survive the wait for her to come back home to him.

They remained like that for a long while, Thierry resting his head on Nilsson's chest, wrapped safely in his arms. Just as he was starting to drift off to sleep, a stray, peculiar thought flitted across Thierry's mind.

"Nilsson? Just what /is/ your first name, anyway?"

Fin.

--

Notes: The idea and the title come from an idle pondering of surnames, and the whole olden-day 'son of...' naming scheme. Using that, Nilsson breaks up into Nil's Son, and then my brain translated 'nil' to 'nothing'... and lo, the idea was formed. 


End file.
